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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23023966">This Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellDoneBeca/pseuds/WellDoneBeca'>WellDoneBeca</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bipolar Disorder, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 04:56:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23023966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellDoneBeca/pseuds/WellDoneBeca</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, love just isn’t enough to hold things together. Sometimes, however, it is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sam Winchester/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p>The mood stabilisers weren’t working enough on their own, Sam knew.</p><p>Bipolar disorder wasn’t easy, and it took a bond special enough with someone like you to know when you were hiding your episode. It was the small things before the bigger ones, honestly; you would call in sick and work at home, fail to take the trash out, stay up all night and refuse to take your sleep medication for reasons that just piled up over time, just to sleep a whole day after spending up to 72 hours awake. Sam would wake up to cakes, cookies, pies, and recipes from the dozens of food books that were always bought without thinking. The food – measuring, mixing and baking and cooking it – was able to silence the thoughts of pain and the dangerous ideas that emerged from you.</p><p>Sometimes he would wake up to paints drying around the windows, some terrifyingly sad. Your biggest work of art was a stormy sea under a dark moonless and starless sky: Dangerous and empty, the last vision of a dying drowning man.</p><p>Other times, there would be long days spent in bed where you would only eat or drink on demand, hidden under the covers as if they could shield you from the world and your own mind.</p><p>Loving you sometimes was an everyday job. Sometimes, it was effortless: you would bring sunlight into a dark room just by entering it, with a beautiful smile and a joyful look in your eyes; sometimes, it was a bit hard to keep up with. He didn’t know if the mood stabilisers could only do so much or if they were straight up not working, but the end result was the same, and he couldn’t even help you.</p><p>It was no movement that woke Sam up, because you hadn’t even gone to bed that night. No, it was the sound of wheels moving on the room floor.</p><p>“Y/N?” Sam called, pushing himself up with his elbows, ignoring the cold on his feet when he failed to get his slippers. “Y/N?”</p><p>Gosh, it was fucking cold tonight. Sam and Dean needed to go around and fix the heat in the bunker.</p><p>He walked out of the bedroom just to find you crying and pulling a suitcase with a determination that the travelling bag itself wasn’t showing. The broken wheel was always the worst part of the day when you had to travel with it, but he was happy you hadn’t thrown it away or fix it properly.</p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p>Your hair was a mess, and the usual very tidy locks Sam just loved to play with were tangled in knots and falling everywhere on your face as if you had just been through a natural disaster.</p><p>“I’m leaving,” you struggled with the suitcase, pulling and pulling it with no success, as it seemed to get finally stuck.</p><p>Sam sighed. This was the second time such a thing happened. A night or two without sleep and hours of spiralling usually resulted in you coming up with ideas that he hated you, or that you would end up destroying your relationship for the simple fact of being yourself.</p><p>Sometimes, he had yet to confess to his therapist – one that worked with hunters and he had found after you two became a serious thing -, he wanted to let you go. He wanted to be rid of the responsibility of having a partner that didn’t believe they could be loved and move on to love someone that believed in his words. But just as the idea showed up in his head, his heart would break just by imagining he could lose you, and nothing could make the idea of moving on with someone else <em>tolerable. </em><em>You </em>were his world, how could he give up on his world?</p><p>Slowly, Sam walked to you and took the handle of the suitcase, pushing it away and hugging your body as tightly as he could, and you curled against his chest. A couple of seconds passed before you broke down completely, and when you did, your body started shaking violently. Sam didn’t even know how he walked you two to the couch, but you curled around him instantly, hiding in his neck like a scared kid while tears and more tears poured from your eyes. When you were done – or at least not crying so much – Sam was finally able to get you to look in his eyes.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“You’re going to leave me,” you sniffed. “I know you are.”</p><p>Sam sighed, reaching with his hands to dry the tears from your cheeks.</p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p>“You will.”</p><p>“I won’t,” he insisted.</p><p>“Maybe not now,” you insisted, your voice tiny an interrupted by sniffs. “But you’ll get tired of me and my mess and all my crying and problems, and you’ll want a partner who isn’t crazy. Then, you’ll pack my stuff and kick me out, and block me on your phone.”</p><p>Sam gave you a small smile.</p><p>“You’re not crazy,” he whispered. “You’re just… A bit more unstable than the average person.”</p><p>You only sniffed more, still shaking just slightly. Sam’s heart felt tiny in his chest from seeing you like that, but he knew that he had to maintain a strong façade in order to calm you down.</p><p>“And I love you,” he moved both his hands to your jaw and face, caressing your cheeks with his thumb. “You’re a kind person with the biggest heart I know, you’re funny, you’re a giver, you are an <em>amazing </em>lover...”</p><p>You tried to hide your face in embarrassment and Sam chuckled.</p><p>“You’re always trying your best in everything that you do,” he reminded you. “There’s no one in this world like you, no one that I could ever love more than I love you, do you understand me?”</p><p>You nodded, and Sam used his grip on your jaw to move your lips closer, and kissed you gently</p><p>“Come on. Let’s go to sleep.”</p><p>You two stood up and you looked back at the suitcase.</p><p>“We can take care of that later,” he pulled you to the corridor. “You need to sleep.”</p><p>
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